


a labor of chemistry

by tomorrowisforeverallours



Category: Band of Brothers
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Asexual Speirs, F/M, Firefighters, Hospitalization, Implied Sexual Content, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, M/M, Suicidal Thoughts, all the vices that come along with Nix, non-graphic description of burns
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-05
Updated: 2019-07-17
Packaged: 2020-02-26 17:44:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 19,342
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18721894
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tomorrowisforeverallours/pseuds/tomorrowisforeverallours
Summary: “Hang in there, buddy, you’re gonna be okay. Keep breathing. Don’t go to sleep on me now. You’re gonna be just fine…”The voice is calm, consistent to a fault, but tinged with a panic that Nix knows doesn’t quite belong there. He squints open his eyes to see an angel carrying him – halo of fire swirling around his head, soot marring his perfect skin, lips pursed in a determined line.“Oh, fuck,” Nix says, and those stormy blue-gray eyes flicker down to meet his. “Didn’t think I was going to heaven, but I’ll take it.”Then he lets the night embrace him.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Fictional story with fictional characters, based on semi-fictional portrayals of real people.

Afterward, his friends will laugh and ask if Nixon is sure he hadn’t been the one to leave the stove on, or the candle burning, or whatever it was that caused his apartment building to light up like a handful of flour.

It’s a dumb fucking question, and the only thing that stops Nix from blatantly saying so is the concern in Lipton’s eyes and the disaffected look on Speirs’s face – the looks that say, we know you, we know what a shitshow your life is, and we wouldn’t put it past you.

Idiots.

Ha, ha, Nix says dryly, and then adds that if he were to actually off himself, there are much less painful ways to do it. They wouldn’t be able to tell if it was intentional or just another one of his three-bottle nights.

Ironically enough, he had been contemplating just that on the night he barely escaped being burnt to a crisp. That is, drinking himself into a stupor. Not suicide.

(Though the option is always there for him, right?)

After his long workday, though, Nix can barely muster the energy to close the front door of his apartment behind him. He sticks a TV dinner in the microwave, has to pull it out again to cut a slit in it before it explodes, and can’t even bring himself to move far enough to pour the Vat69 neat he customarily has with supper.

He laughs at the sallow face that stares back in the microwave glass, twists the features into something resembling a wry smile. “No drink tonight, Lew? Dad would be disappointed. The one thing you’re consistent about.”

_ Shut up. _

He eats his quasi-alien-food while watching a  _ Price is Right  _ rerun, of all things. When he’s forced down as much as he can, Nix stumbles to bed, shedding clothes along the way and looking forward to – well, perhaps not a good night’s rest, but enough sleep that he can function like something masquerading as human tomorrow.

When he awakens, Nixon cannot breathe.

For a moment Nix is sure that he’s back at home and his parents’ fat old cat has decided to suffocate him. His exhausted attempt to shove the thing off is met with air, though, and when he peels his eyes open they sting. The world is hazy.

“…the hell?” he mumbles, rolling up and out of bed to investigate. He hadn’t left anything on, had he? It’s hard to remember any substantial details with the pounding headache that greets him – but he hadn’t drank, right?  _ Shit’s weird. _

His living room is shrouded in the same haze, and Nix wanders about for a minute absently investigating, not putting the pieces together until he tries the front door and burns himself on the knob.

“Ah,  _ fuck! _ ” Nix yanks his hand away, wincing as a few layers of skin are left behind. Dark smoke billows into the room from the door’s cracks, and when Nix registers how warm the room has become, he lets out a low slur of curses to rival his neighbor Guarnere.  _ Fire. What the fuck do you do when your building’s on fire? Why didn’t the smoke alarm go – oh, yeah. Broke that last week. Well, why isn’t the fire alarm – oh. It is going off. How the hell did I sleep through that? Ah, shit. _

Thoughts racing, Nix stumbles around his apartment, trying to remember the basic sorts of things they teach you in elementary school. He wets a cloth to breathe through, gets down on the floor, and crawls to the window, where it takes him a good minute to get the damn thing open. The whole time, it feels like a high school band has taken up residence in his head, and there is a tightness in his lungs that makes every breath a little less beneficial. The open window barely abates his struggle.

Of course, his apartment faces the back of the lot, so all he gets is a lovely view of the (fire-free) building next door. He can see flashing lights in the reflection of their windows, though.  _ Well, at least the fire department’s here. Not that it does me any good.  _ Nobody can see or hear him over the sirens.

Nix has to take a long moment to try and channel his burgeoning panic into something more productive. “Okay, Lew,” he mumbles, pressing the palms of his hands into his eyes to soothe the smoke-sting. “What the hell are you doing?”

He’s on the fourth floor, which means no jumping unless he’s interested in becoming a Nix-style pancake on the asphalt. He’s not even sure where the fire escape is – can’t see one in the flame-illuminated night.

_ Guess it’s the old-fashioned stairs,  _ he thinks, a hysterical little laugh escaping him that quickly turns to a hacking smoker’s cough. The spasm racks his body to its core, to the point where Nix withdraws from the window to sink to his knees.  _ There’s too much smoke. Wrong vice, world. I’m an alcoholic, you see. Oh, God, I’m really going to die if I don’t get out of here. _

It is sheer animal instinct that propels him, then. With the ugly quilt his grandmother had given him, Nix opens the door to be greeted with a picturesque, totally-on-fire hallway.

It already licks at his bare feet, and Nix takes just enough time to regret not putting clothes on before he starts to run.  _ On the bright side, it’s not like there’s anything to be ashamed of. Or there won’t be. _

It’s so hot that the air itself seems to be on fire, and with every labored inhale little cinders come alive in Nix’s lungs. A coughing spasm seizes him halfway down the stairs and momentum takes him the rest of the way, slamming into the far wall where the flames grasp and cling to him like hell’s worst scorned lover.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck!” Frantic hands slap at the flames as Nix tries to beat them down, consumed with the scorching pain and vaguely aware of the sweet smell of burning skin. His oxygen-deprived brain helpfully reminds him,  _ stop drop and roll,  _ so Nix does just that –

And rolls right down the fucking stairs.

_ Good fucking going, Nixon. _

“Ow.” He remains a crumpled heap at the bottom, a low, tortured moan escaping him. Everything aches now. And the pressure in his lungs is unimaginable, and every nerve ending in his body is revolting, sparking like firecrackers held deliberately against his skin.

It takes every last ounce of energy Nix has to drag himself down the next two flights of stairs. At this point the world is fading in and out of focus, the pain fades to the background, and he is half-tempted to just give up and let himself sink into the sun.

_ The weather’s been so shitty and cold nowadays… wouldn’t it be nice to be warm for a while? _

His sister’s voice.  _ Just take a nap, Lew. I’ll wake you up before you get sunburned, okay? _

_ Okay… _

Kathy.  _ Sleeping again, Lewis? You’re hopeless. _

_ Yeah… _

“Hello? Is anybody still in here?”

That voice isn’t in his head. It is unfamiliar and echoes from a world away, but something about it strikes Nix, pulls him out of near-unconsciousness. With the awareness comes the pain again, though, and he lets out an involuntary cry of pain.

“Hello!”

He ought to say something, but what? What was the question? “Hey!” rasps Nix, the words breaking into coughs. When it seems to do no good, he nearly sobs. “By the stairs, you deaf sonuvabitch!”

That’s all he’s got; Nix closes his eyes and lets his forehead touch the floor. Distantly he hears the pounding of footsteps, feels the touch of foreign hands on his seared skin. He jerks and cries out, but the pressure remains steady, swinging him from the floor into a pair of unfaltering arms.

Somehow, Nix focuses enough to hear the low chant of reassurances in his ear.

“Hang in there, buddy, you’re gonna be okay. Keep breathing. Don’t go to sleep on me now. You’re gonna be just fine…”

The voice is calm, consistent to a fault, but tinged with a panic that Nix knows doesn’t quite belong there. He squints open his eyes to see an angel carrying him – halo of fire swirling around his head, soot marring his perfect skin, lips pursed in a determined line.

“Oh, fuck,” Nix says, and those stormy blue-gray eyes flicker down to meet his. “Didn’t think I was going to heaven, but I’ll take it.”

Then he lets the night embrace him.

* * *

Nix comes back to the world slowly. It is a tedious process, his consciousness struggling to resurface from the depths of his mind like a person swimming through molasses. One by one, his senses return to him, alerting him to his circumstances: the repetitious beeping of machines, the sickening sterile hospital smell, the ache of an IV needle in his arm, and the pain. Dear God, the pain.

Where he isn't numb, he's still on  _ fire _ . He can feel his heartbeat through every inch of skin and a low groan escapes him when even that hurts. It hurts to  _ breathe. _

"Hey buddy, you alive?"

Nix squints one eye open and then immediately closes it, blinded by the fluorescent light, but it's enough to recognize Harry Welsh's crooked smile.

"I'm alive, I think," he rasps, sounding to his own ears like a 40-year smoker. "Am I alive?"

"Fortunately, yes. Or unfortunately, depending on your perspective. You're in for a tough recovery, Lew."

"Great," Nix mumbles, letting his expression go slack. "Do I have a drug button?"

"Uh, yeah, next to your right hand."

"Good. See you later." Nix presses the button and lets the drip-drip-drip of morphine push him back into nothingness.

* * *

The next time he wakes up, the world has grown a bit sharper, more in focus, as are the faces of Harry and Kitty at his bedside. Nix listens to their conversation with his eyes closed for a few minutes, trying to sort out reality from dream and take inventory of his body. The pain has dulled to a warm tingling all over, but every brush against the scratchy linens sends unpleasant little sparks down his spine.

He opens his eyes to look around, taking in the impersonal decor of a hospital room -- drab beige chairs, seafoam green walls, a muted TV playing  _ Friends _ . Harry and Kitty are forehead-press close, discussing wedding plans, and he lets a smirk grace his lips as the two of them remain wrapped up in each other.  _ Lovebirds. _

"Beautiful furnishings you've got going on here," he quips, voice rough with smoke and disuse, smiling as they jump apart. "Love what you've done with the place."

"Hey, Nix," responds Kitty, as casually as if they had never been surprised at all. That's one thing he's always appreciated about her -- the only sign that anything is out of sorts at all is the featherlight kiss she presses to his forehead.

Nix chuckles even though it hurts. "Ooh. Forehead kisses. You'd better watch out, Welshy, or I'll be stealing your girl."

"You do that, I'll burn the other seventy percent of you," says Harry, sporting his gap-toothed grin. "I'm glad you're awake again, Nix. How're you feeling?"

"Like a giant chicken wing," Nix grunts. For the first time, he takes a good look at himself, peeling the blanket back, but his feet and most of his legs are wrapped in bandages. His arms are wrapped, too, and the rest of him is a splotchy red sunburn. Just the sight of it all has Nix tempted to pass out again. "Yikes. Is my hair okay?"

"Yes, Nix, your hair's fine."

"Thank God. What the hell happened?"

"What do you remember?"

"Hey, I'm the one asking the questions here," Nix retorts, mostly because he doesn't have a good answer. He remembers trying to escape the building, falling down a flight of stairs... and the angel that had rescued him. Even now, those blue eyes shine in his memory. "I just remember getting carried out by a guy. Any idea who he was?"

Harry shrugs. "No clue, sorry. Was he cute?"

"Yeah, real cute," Nix responds absently.

Kitty laughs, a loud, unabashed noise that has everyone who hears it falling in love with her (or so Harry says; it certainly worked on him). "Nix, did you fall in love with a firefighter  _ as _ he was rescuing you from a burning building? That's so romantic. Why didn't I get rescued from any burning buildings?"

"Nobody said anything about love," says Nix as Harry simultaneously complains, "Being caught in a burning building is not an ideal first meeting, Kitty."

"It'd be more romantic than how we met - "

"I thought we agreed not to talk about that!"

Nix grins as his friends bicker, leaning back against his mountain of pillows.  _ This isn’t too bad. _

The next couple of days may or may not change his mind, because everything is painful and he sort of wants to die. Twice a day, the infuriatingly-calm Doc Roe comes in to change his bandages, slather the burns in antibiotic ointment, and dial down the painkillers in his IV. (That's probably the worst part of it, but Nixon doesn't complain. He doesn't need another addiction.) When he isn't laying about lamenting his continued existence, Nix is struggling to find something entertaining on TV, mapping the drywall swirls on the ceiling, or trying to figure out what the hell he's going to do after discharge.

He'd never considered renters' insurance necessary, so all he's getting out of the fire is the nonexistent clothes on his back. It's not like his family is strapped for cash -- his parents may not have cared enough to cut short their vacation to Monaco, but his mother had called to say "not to worry, Lewis, just send all the bills to us" -- but he's still in limbo until he finds a new apartment and recovers enough to replace all his belongings.

At least he's got a job that lets him take as much time off as he needs. Not that it's very reassuring.

Man, he needs a drink.

And then, for God knows what reason, the universe decides to send him a sign that things might turn out okay. A sign with red hair and steel-blue eyes.

His visitor takes him by surprise; Nix is waiting on Speirs to smuggle him in some Vat69, but he isn't off work until late, and everyone else is similarly occupied. He's trying to remember his Spanish enough to interpret the movie that's on when there's a polite rap on the door.    
  
Nix struggles to a sitting position. "Aww, Doc, you said you weren't gonna put me through that torture for another hour."    
  
"No torturer here, I'm afraid," says a voice that is decidedly not Doc Roe's strangely deep Cajun drawl, and then his guardian angel walks through the door.    
  
Nix is sure that his expression must resemble an Asian Carp or something similarly perpetually-stunned, because the redheaded stud that walks in the door is nothing short of a dream come true. He's tall but stocky, with muscles that Nix's hands long to squeeze and legs that go on for at least a mile, maybe two. He's wearing a cobalt-blue button up that enhances the shade of his eyes, which blink out from a face that might have been carved by Michelangelo himself, the queer that he was.   
  
For a moment Nix feels like he's back in the midst of the fire again, because his skin is crawling with heat and he can’t fucking breathe.    
  
"...oh," he says, like a fucking idiot.    
  
"Hi." The perfect stranger lingers by the door, seeming uncertain, and Nix wants to reassure him that his presence is  _ very much welcome _ but all he can do is gape. "Sorry. If I'm disturbing you, or if you're expecting someone, I can leave."   
  
"No! " Nix gasps, horrified at the mere thought of having this man out of his sight now that he has been blessed with it.  "No, uh, I'm not expecting anyone."    
  
The edges of the man's lips curl up into a relieved smile, and Nix is pretty sure he's halfway to proposing already. "Great. I just wanted to check in on you, see how your recovery is going." When he's met with Nix's blank, half-disbelieving stare, he ducks his head and rubs the back of his neck with a hand. "Sorry, I shouldn't expect you to remember. I was the one who found you at the top of the second flight of stairs that night. My name's Richard Winters."    
  
Nix does, in fact, remember him, but he'd been a little convinced the angel was actually a figment of his oxygen-deprived imagination, and he certainly wasn't expecting to ever see the fireman again.  _ Not that it's a bad thing. _ He leans over and gives the guy a winning grin, sticking a hand out before realizing it's the burnt one and switching. "Well, Mr. Winters - Rick? Can I call you that?"   
  
An involuntary moue of disapproval twists the man’s lips, and Nix struggles not to laugh at the way he struggles to straighten his expression out. "I prefer Dick, actually."   
  
_ Don't say it don't say it don't you fucking dare - _   
  
"So do I," purrs Nix, hating himself even as he says it, because  _ how more lame can you get, Nixon? _ He's waiting for the man to get offended, or just get up and leave, so color him surprised when his bad pickup line coaxes a chuckle out of Dick instead. Nix lights up like his apartment building at the sound of a  _ fucking  _ angel's laughter gracing his eardrums, but doesn’t let himself get his hopes up. "Sorry, where was I? Of course. I don't know how to even start thanking you for saving my sorry ass from turning into a human shishkebab."    
  
"No thanks necessary," says Dick, smiling.  "Just doing my job. I'm glad you're okay."    
  
"Oh, I am very okay now," mumbles Nix. "Com' on, there's gotta be some way I can thank you." Money is a bit of an object now that he has to replace all his belongings, but Nix is sure he could scrounge up a monetary reward. But he doesn't want to  _ assume  _ that Dick is interested in money. _ Is that even legal? How else do you tell a sexy fireman thanks for saving you from a fiery death? Sex? _ Dick doesn't seem like the type to let Nix into his pants on the first date.  _ Not that this is a date. God, I wish it was. _   
  
"Wish this was what?"   
  
"A date," Nix responds absently, before his brain catches up with his mouth. He gapes momentarily at Dick's amused smirk before smothering his face in his hands. "Oh, God. I'm sorry.

"You're right, though. I don't let people into my pants on the first date," continues Dick, tone laced with amusement. "Especially not when they're hospital bound."   
  
_ Nix, you are a catastrophe. _ "Sorry, I'm..."  _ very attracted to you, _ "on a lot of drugs."   
  
"That's alright. There might be one thing you can do for me, though,” he says, and Nix's head snaps up so fast he bites back a gasp at the crick in his neck.  _ ow, fuck _ . 

"Oh, yeah?" He says, trying not to sound as eager as he is.    
  
Dick smiles, eyes twinkling like Albus fucking Dumbledore or something. "You could tell me your name."   
  
That's a reasonable request; Nix is about to deliver before he pauses, pouting bemusedly. "There's no way you found your way to my room without learning my name. There are at least three security checkpoints you have to go through to get here."  _ Only the best room for our Lewis, _ his mother had cooed.    
  
He finds himself delighted at the vaguely sheepish expression on Dick's face when he's caught in his lie. The harsh glare of the hospital lights makes his hair glow copper. "You're right," he admits.    
  
"So then why'd you ask?"   
  
"My mother always taught me it was polite to let people introduce themselves, rather than letting others do it. And I wanted to hear how your name sounds in your voice."   
  
Nix blinks, taken aback by the sincerity of his request; he gets the feeling that Dick Winters will continue to surprise him for a very long time, if he gets the chance. And Nix wants to give him that chance.    
  
"Well," he hums, "it's quite an unreasonable thing to ask for, but I think I could manage it."   
  
"Oh, yeah?"   
  
"Lewis Nixon the Third," he says by way of response. "For friends, it's Nix. For you? Call me Lew."    
  
His heart does an undeniably-unhealthy skip when Dick's expression slowly lights up, like the sunrise encapsulated in a person. There's something sparkling in those eyes that promises more than friendship, or at least beyond a minutes-old friendship, and Nix wants to see just how far it might go. He wants that sparkle to be just for him, and it scares him, the intensity of that want, because he hasn't looked at someone with more than vague interest since the ink on the divorce papers dried. Before, even.    
  
"Nice to meet you, Lew," says Dick; the name rolls off his tongue like honey. He smiles, and it's tentative and sweet and Nix very nearly leans over to kiss it off him.    
  
Then, of course, his actual torturer opens the door and the bubble bursts.    
  
"Alright, Nixon, time ta man up again," says Doc Roe, eyes pinned to a clipboard until he glances up and finds Nix glaring and Dick looking awkward. "Ah, you've actually got a visitor. Nice ta see you, Lieutenant." 

  
"Hi, Doc," responds Dick, voice flat even though his lips quirk up at the corners. He gives Nix a rueful look and then, much to Nix’s horror, pushes himself up from his chair. 

“Wait! Hang on, we don't have to do this now, do we, Roe?” Nix asks, pleading with his eyes as much as he can. He's not even trying to protect his pride, now; Roe's seen him stripped of that for days, and when it comes to trying to hang onto a moment with a man like Dick Winters, Nix will do whatever he has to. “We were in the middle of a scintillating conversation.”

Fate is against him, though, because Doc Roe just gives him the Look.™ “We sure do have’t do this now, Nix. You can suck it up.”

“It’s not -”

“It's alright,” Dick interrupts, glancing between the two of them. “I should get back to the station before my men light something on fire they can’t put out themselves.” 

Nix snorts. “They do that often?” 

Dick gives him a long-suffering look that Nix grins at, having seen it on Lipton hundreds of times. “More often than you’d think. I’m glad they gave me the chance to swing by and see you, though; I’ve been meaning to come down here for a few days, but…” 

“Firefighter business, of course, I know how it is,” says Nix blithely, momentarily ignoring the fact that he has no idea how it is. “Thanks again for saving me.” 

“Again, no need.” Nix watches one of Dick’s arms lift imperceptively, as if he’s about to  _ touch  _ Nix in goodbye, before his fingers flex and the movement ceases. “Well, I’ll be off, then. Doc.” 

“Winters,” Roe nods as he manhandles one of Nix’s legs into a bent position. He can’t help but call out to the back of the retreating man before he leaves the room. 

“Hey, Dick!” 

The firefighter turns in the doorway, the picture of stoicity save for the wry twitch of his lips and the carefully raised eyebrow. “Yeah, Lew?” 

Nix grins. “Come back and keep an invalid company sometime, alright? You’re much better company than Doc here -  _ ow,  _ you  _ motherfucker _ !” An outright smile spreads across Dick’s face then, and Nix cherishes the sight even as he is currently preoccupied with smacking at Doc Roe for ‘purposefully intending harm on a patient.’ 

“I will.” 

“Well. Great. Bye, then,” Nix stammers, and Dick smiles, and then he’s gone. 

The sun seems to disappear with him and Nix flops back against his pillows, boneless and grinning dopily at the ceiling as Doc Roe changes his bandages. Maybe there are some good reasons to keep on living.   


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> not sure when this will be next updated - i have a mermay thing that i can't wait to get out into the world - but it is a multichapter! vaguely inspired by my roommate sleeping through a fire alarm. don't tell them about that. 
> 
> title: yOuR wAgOn iS oN fIrE


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nix gets a card. Developments.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks to everyone who commented <3 
> 
> this chapter is short because i wanted to get it out before i take some time to finish a Super Long oneshot that's in the works. so idk when the next update will be, but you'll be well-fed in the meantime. 
> 
> Warning for mentions of reproductive coercion, and canon-typical Speirs brutality.

Nix has been in the burn unit for a week and a half now, and it is almost worse than the time he gave himself alcohol poisoning in college when Speirs dared him to do all those Jägerbombs. A couple of days ago, they'd taken a skin graft from his back to patch up some of the more burned spots on his calves. Despite feeling like he’s been flayed like an animal, everything is healing well, according to Doc Roe, and he should be discharged by the end of the week. He’ll just have to regularly return to the burn center for checkups. 

In the meantime, though, Nix might just go out of his goddamn mind.

His one saving grace is Dick Winters. The firefighter keeps his word, as Nix knew he  would, and returns to bless him with that glorious half-smile and lighthearted stories about his men. The shenanigans of Philadelphia's Easy Company, as they're known, range from uniform fashion shows that quickly become not safe for work (“Don't tell Guarnere, but he was rock bottom in the voting.”) to using the engine's ladder to do circus dives into a pool (“Luz was furious when he found out they were misusing his ‘baby.’”) to anything in between. Every anecdote is conveyed with a bland tone, but those blue eyes dance with mirth, betraying just how much he cares for his men. 

Nix can't fucking wait to meet these guys. 

In turn, Nix spills every detail of his life that isn't completely mortifying (and a few that are). They discover a mutual friend in Harry, whom Dick met at a charity event Kitty had dragged him to, and proceed to trade every story they can think of. There's a lot. 

So Nix might still be 15 percent crispy, but he has a new friend, and God knows how much he needs those. The universe might not have it out for him anymore. 

Somebody else does, though. 

It's a perfectly normal Tuesday. Nix is chatting with Lipton about the merits of  _ Friends  _ (“Ross just looks like a shitty boss I used to have”) when a nurse stops by with an envelope for him. 

"Funny, I should've known they'd still make me pay rent,” he snarks, before the actual sender stuns him. Written in his ex-wife’s too-neat handwriting is his name and previous address. “Oh.”

“Who's it from?” 

“Kathy.” Nix frowns at the envelope, strongly considering just throwing it away. In the end, though, morbid curiosity wins out and he opens it with a finger. 

Then he tosses it on the bed with a groan. “Aww, fuck her.”

“What?”

“She sent me a fuckin’ get well card,” Nix grouses, picking up the Hallmark-branded platitude and staring at the butterflies on the front. “My apartment building burnt down and all I got was this shitty card.”

“Belongs on a T-shirt,” Lipton says, the scar on his cheek crinkling as he offers Nix a sympathetic smile. 

"It'd be one less shirt I have to replace. ‘Dear Lewis,’” he reads, eyebrows furrowed in a scowl. “‘Your mother called and told me about the incident. I hope recovery goes smoothly. Don't use this as an excuse to slack off on your payments.’ Does she really think that little of me? Signed - oh, that  _ bitch!” _

Nix flings the card as far away from him as possible in his rage; simultaneously, the door to his hospital room opens. In the blink of an eye his visitor is stumbling back out of view, swearing mildly under his breath. 

“Oh, shit -”

Nix swings his legs over the side, abashed and flushing hotly at his mistake, even if a little voice in his head applauds his ninja card-throwing skills. Lipton gets there first, though, hurrying to check on his victim as the motherly instincts kick in. “Did you really have to ambush your visitor, Nix?” 

“I didn’t do it on purpose! Unless it’s Roe, in which case I did.” 

“I’m sure Roe would be thrilled to hear how much you care about him,” Lipton says flatly. He comes back in the room, leading -  _ oh. _

It’s Dick standing there, covering one eye with a hand and squinting at Nix with the other. “You know, if you really didn’t want to see me again, you could have just told me,” he says, and the only thing stopping Nix from spontaneously combusting in embarrassment is the laws of nature and the playful twitch of his lips that belies his words.

_ Okay, he’s not mad. Don’t need to pull out the move-to-Costa-Rica plan. Yet.  _ “Wasn’t sure if you’d get the hint,” Nix quips, unable to help a grin when Dick shoots him a familiar Look™. Something in his chest is oddly tight, and Nix is worried he’s having heart problems until he realizes this is what it’s like to feel joy. “Obviously you didn’t, so I guess I’m stuck with you.” 

“Sorry. I know you’re disappointed.” 

Dick sits down in Lipton’s chair, which the other man takes as his chance to escape, packing things back into his messenger bag. “Hey, Nix, I know I said I’d stick around but this physics paper isn’t gonna write itself -”

“Ah, get outta here, Lip.” Nix waves a hand at him flippantly. “Ron would kill me if I tried to distract you from your homework, anyway. And I’m sure you’ll be around on Saturday.” 

“Yeah.” Lipton hesitates; Nix knows the words on his tongue before they come out. “You know, our offer still stands. I’m sure Ron can clear out some of the books in that room. I’ve been meaning to make him do it for a while.” 

“Right, thanks, Lip,” says Nix blithely, ignoring the unimpressed look that Dick is giving him. “But I’ll figure something out, you know I always do.” 

“That’s what you say,” mutters Lipton under his breath, but he doesn’t press the issue. He does, however, pick up Kathy’s card in the hallway and toss it onto the bed before he leaves. “Don’t hurt anybody else with this. Bye, Nix.”

“See ya, Lip.” 

It’s only after Lipton leaves, closing the door behind him, that Nix realizes he and Dick are alone - and, as always, he feels the intense urge to fill the silence. He glances at the firefighter and finds him trying to rub the pain out of his eye, both of which are red and watery. “Oh, shit. I’m actually really sorry about that. Got a little… upset.” 

“It’s alright. I should’ve known that the fire wasn’t the end of the trouble with you,” he deadpans. “Bad news?” 

“Huh?” 

Dick shoots a meaningful glance at the card in Nix’s lap and he laughs bitterly, remembering what had caused him to throw it in the first place. “Just the ex-wife trying to disguise herself as a decent human being and failing. You wanna know what she did?” 

“Hmm?” 

“She signed the card from the dog.  _ My  _ fucking dog, may I add, that  _ she  _ doesn’t even like, but she took anyway because apparently her life goal is to make me miserable. That’s  _ my dog! _ How fucked up is that?” 

“It’s pretty messed up,” Dick agrees mildly, near-invisible ginger eyebrows furrowing in  sympathy. “I’m sorry you have to deal with that, Lew.” 

“Oh well, it’s fine,” Nix quickly bluffs, a prickly but not entirely unpleasant heat rising in his cheeks at the soft look Dick is giving him. It's rare that he ever has someone look at him like they really want to know how he's feeling, and Nix doesn't think he deserves it, but he's not about to complain. When Dick gets to know him better, he'll realize Nix isn't worth the attention, so he'll take it while he can. “I don't have to live with her anymore, so I can't complain too much. And if she's sent a card, that means she's not visiting in person, so I'll take this over that any day.”

“I’m guessing it wasn’t a very clean divorce,” says Dick. 

“Oh, as clean as one can be when you both hate each other,” says Nix. It’s easy to tell this story, and he wants to get it over with. “It was a marriage of obligation, really. Parents liked the idea and neither of us were really in a place to realize how poorly matched we were into after we tied the knot and all that jazz. Three miserable years and one kid later, here we are.” A beat of orchestrated silence passes before Nix continues by rote. “Don't get me wrong, I was a terrible husband. I have no illusions about that. But she's the one who poked holes in the condoms, so I think we're even.”

“Jeez,” breathes Dick, leaning back in his seat. His blue eyes are wide and for once Nix feels a bit of guilt at forcing his fucked-up life story onto him. “I'm sorry, Lew. No one should have to be a parent if they don't want to be.”

Nix shrugs. He tries not to think about the kid too often, so it's easy for him to compartmentalize it away until holidays or child support payments remind him that out there in the world is a little girl who will know him as little more than a name on cards and a set of addiction-predisposed genes. “It's alright. She'll be better off without me in her life.” 

“That's not true. Every child needs a father.”

“And she has one,” Nix retorts. “Pretty nice guy. Professional golfer, I hear.” That's all he knows about ‘Geoff,’ and it's more than Nix cares to know. 

He looks at Dick, though, and the vision is so real it almost hurts: a lanky little boy with a sunshine smile and a face bedazzled with freckles, or a stoic little girl who inherits her father's ginger hair. Twins, maybe. Nix has known Dick for a week, maybe, but he already knows the man is destined to be a father. The thought hurts a little, but he hasn’t seen a ring on those long fingers, and Dick hasn’t shut down any of his flirting, so maybe there’s still hope. “That’s enough about me, though. What have you been up to?” 

“Oh, not much,” says Dick, but if his frown is anything to go by (which it usually is), he isn’t fooled by the diversion. “What was… Lip? That isn’t his name, right?” 

Nix snorts. “No, but it might as well be. That’s Carwood Lipton, but don’t call him Carwood. He doesn’t have a problem with it, but his boyfriend Ron might rip your balls off.” 

“...good to know.” 

“Yeah, he’s a possessive fucker. Went to school with him.” Nix chuckles a little, snapshot memories of the antics they got up to running through his mind. Ron Speirs and Lewis Nixon III had fallen in together because nobody else would put up with either of them, but it turned out to be a pretty good arrangement. Ron beat up people that tried to take advantage of a drunk Nix, and in turn Nix paid people off so Ron didn’t end up in jail. Not to mention, once you got past the murderous facade, Ron was a pretty chill guy. “Anyway, yeah. What did you want to know?” 

“Well, what was Lipton trying to convince you about?” 

Of course Dick is straightforward in his questioning; it seems there isn’t a dishonest bone in his body. And while Nix finds it strangely admirable, it also means he is forced to think about problems he is currently trying to ignore. “Oh. That.” 

“Mhm.” 

Nix wants to change the subject again, but one expectant quirk of those lips and he’s spilling the beans. He rolls his eyes, though, just to emphasize his feelings on the subject. “Oh, they’ve been offering me their spare room, since, yanno, apartment is a burnt-out husk and all. But I’m not interested in being a third wheel in that relationship. God knows I’d come home and find them doin’ it on the kitchen table or something, and then Ron would pour acid on my eyes while I’m sleeping.” 

He can’t help the triumphant smirk that tugs at his lips when he sees how brilliantly Dick flushes. Nix doesn’t usually like prudes, but Dick doesn’t seem like one - he’s simply a very reserved man when it comes to talk of anything sexual.  _ Maybe he’s Amish. No, they’re the ones with the horses. Maybe he’s a Quaker.  _

Dick doesn’t comment on his magnificent imagination, though. In fact, he appears more concerned than amused. “Do you… do you not have a place to stay after you’re discharged?” 

_ Oh. Oh no.  _ “Don’t worry about me,” says Nix hurriedly, “I’ll be fine. Probably get a hotel room for a couple’a weeks while I look for a new apartment. No big deal.” Somehow, Dick doesn’t seem convinced, and Nix gestures a little bigger, speaks a little louder, all to impress on him that he’ll be  _ fine  _ and that heart-warming worry really isn’t necessary for regular old Lewis Nixon. “Really! Continental breakfast every morning, don’t have to make my own bed… sounds like heaven.” 

“And who’s going to make sure your burns are healing properly?” asks Dick pointedly. He leans forward, resting his elbows on the bed, and Nix marvels at the arch of his back before blinking himself out of it. 

He makes a face. “Nobody needs to. If you’re that worried, though, I’ll tip a housekeeper a little more; she can make sure I don’t die.” 

“Can you afford to stay in a hotel for that long?” 

“My family could afford to straight-out buy me a house if I wanted one,” says Nix. He neglects to mention the fact that he’s been trying very hard not to rely on the Nixon coffers, and going back to them might send him into a Charybdian downward spiral. (The hospital bills don’t count.) “Money’s not an issue.” 

He stares at Dick, trying to impress upon him the fact that Nix will be fine, but Dick just gazes back at him with those unreadable blue-grey eyes. Speirs’ signature impassive expression has nothing on Dick Winters. 

“Move in with me,” says Dick. 

_ What?  _

“What?” squeaks Nix. 

His face feels like it’s burning red, and his heart must be beating at a truly alarming rate for a hospital patient, but all he can do is gape at the man.  _ I didn’t think my hearing was affected. What?  _

Dick, on the other hand, softens, eyes crinkling as he leans back into his seat. “I have a spare room - one that isn’t filled with books, even - that you can stay in. My place is pretty small, but there’s enough room for two people. And that way, someone will be around to help you until you’ve fully recovered.” 

Nix is already shaking his head and chanting “No,” even as the love-stricken part of his brain screams at him to accept the offer. “I can’t invade your space like that. You already saved me; you don’t owe me anything else.” 

“I’m not offering because I feel like I owe you,” says Dick. “I’m offering because I want to take care of you.” 

Nix’s mouth falls open again as a whole band of drummers takes up residence in his chest, somewhere between his fourth and fifth rib. Dick catches himself, too, color rising high in his cheeks as he looks away. “Sorry. I mean, I want to be there for you. If you need me. Which you probably don’t, like you’ve said. I don’t mean to imply that you can’t take care of yourself -” 

He’s rambling and it’s cute but a little painful to watch and Nix leans over, covering one of Dick’s hands to get him to shut up. Just that touch has sparks running up and down his arm and Dick looks up, wide-eyed. 

“It’s cool,” Nix says. “I get you. And…”  _ oh, you’re fucked, Nixon,  _ “I think I’ll take you up on that offer.” 

He’s never seen a sight as beautiful as the way Dick’s expression lights up, flashing pearly-white teeth in a full-blown smile. “Great! I’ll have to do a little rearranging, but it shouldn’t be any problem. And you can stay as long as you need to.” 

“So forever?” says Nix impulsively. 

Dick’s smile dims, but is no less affectionate, and he tilts his head a little. “We’ll have to see about that.” 

“Right, of course,” Nix responds, trying not to sound crushed, even though he knows it was a dumb thing to say. “Check your schedule and let me know.” 

Dick opens his mouth to retort, but is cut off by a sudden buzzing on his person; moments later, a woman’s voice echoes through the room, conveying details about a car accident on the freeway. Nix watches as he checks the pager briefly, then looks at Nix with an apologetic, yet serious look in his eyes. “I’m sorry, I have to go.”

Nix waves a hand. “You’re fine. Can’t complain about you going to go save more lives, huh? Do what you gotta.” 

He almost gets whiplash by how fast Dick is out of his seat and at the door, all business now. “Right. I’ll see you soon, Lew.” 

“Stay safe!”

And he’s gone. 

Nix sighs, falling back onto his pillows; he perks up when Dick sticks his head back into the room, though, lips quirked in a smile. “You want to know what my Plan B was for convincing you?” he asks. 

He’s clearly wasting time standing here talking to Nix, and people could be dying right now, but Nix can’t bring himself to really care when Dick is still talking to him. He’s selfish like that. “Lay it on me.” 

“I have a dog.” 

_ Holy fucking shit! Hell yeah! DOG! _

Dick is gone again, but Nix yells, “You should’ve led with that!” after him, just in case he can still hear him, grin splitting his face so wide it hurts. Just the thought of Dick with a dog has his chest aching with that joyful feeling again, and he’s sure he won’t be able to calm down until he gets pictures. He sends a quick text off to Dick to make sure he gets them as soon as possible, and then calls Harry. 

“Nix? What’s up?”

“Harry, I’m gonna need a list of all those techniques you used to hide how in-love with Kitty you were before she jumped your bones in junior year.”  _ Because I am Fucked.  _


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nix gets discharged from the hospital, wears Ron's shirt, and cries over a dog.

With a dog to look forward to, the rest of the week passes by in the blink of an eye. Nix is so ready to get out of this hospital room that he even sets an alarm on the shitty clock in his room for Saturday morning (he’ll have to prioritize buying a new phone), and wakes up at nine-thirty a.m., feeling more alive than he can remember. 

It has nothing to do with the prospect of keeping close quarters with Dick Winters. Nothing at all.

“Alright, Nixon, ‘m trustin’ you to remember all this,” says Doc Roe as he checks Nix’s healing burns one last time. He still hasn’t gotten quite used to the ugly fishnet appearance of the skin graft on his leg, and he’s sure the donor site on his back is a monstrosity to behold, but hey, nobody’s going to be seeing him naked anytime soon (unfortunately), so it’s fine. 

“Lay it all on me, Doc, I’m intelligent.” 

He gets the infamous Roe squinty-eyes in return. “Sure. Keep ‘em covered in the sun, but you don’t gotta stay bandaged up, ‘cept for the graft areas. Don’t touch those ‘til we call and tell ya you can. Ointment once a day, don’t scratch, an’ for the love of God, no hot showers.” 

Nix winces at the mere thought. Although he can’t wait to take a proper shower again, the thought of hot water is agony. “You don’t have to worry about that, Doc.”

“Good, ‘cause you wouldn’t believe how many people try it. And when we start arranging for physiotherapy, I expect ya to show up.” Roe glares at him and Nix is about to complain, affronted at how little faith the doctor has in him, but a moment’s pause has him shrugging in concession. 

He’s got a point after all.  _ Left to my own devices, I probably would skip.  _ “Alright.”

“I’m sure Lieutenant Winters will be driving him to every appointment personally, so you shouldn’t have to worry about that,” says Lipton, walking in with a Walmart bag that he tosses on the bed. “Brought you some clothes. The sweatpants are Ron’s, and he will definitely notice, so just blame me.”

“Hey, I can drive myself around,” Nix argues. He unties the knot in the bag and sends a silent prayer of thanks to God for Carwood Lipton.  _ Fuck this hospital gown.  _

“Yeah, but Winters seems like the type to drive you. And your baby is still in impound after your landlord towed it for sitting too long.”

“Bastard.” Another thing to add to the ever-growing to-do list. Nix gets to his feet, a little wobbly on unused muscles. “We good, Doc?”

“Yeah.” Doc Roe pats his shoulder and makes to leave the room, calling over his shoulder, “I’ll meet’cha out front wit’ ya discharge papers.” 

His departure leaves Nixon and Lipton alone. Nix heads into the bathroom to change, momentarily considers flushing the hospital gown down the toilet to prove a point before deciding it isn’t worth the lawsuit, and takes a moment to look at himself in the mirror. The burns are covered by clothing, but a faint sunburn-like rosiness still graces his cheeks. Carwood’s shirt hangs a little loose on the shoulders; Nix tugs one side down, just to show off a cheeky amount of collarbone. Then he wonders just who he’s doing it for. Dick Winters doesn’t seem Puritanical enough to get all hot and bothered by a flash of skin, Nix thinks. And he’s probably not even interested. He’s just being kind out of the goodness of his damn Quaker heart.

(...Nix leaves the shirt askew anyway.)

Lipton is sitting on the bed when he comes out, having put the sparse number of condolence gifts Nix had received in the now-repurposed bag. He glances up with an oddly serious expression and Nix rolls his eyes, used to Lip’s worry. “Oh, what’s that look for, Lip?”

“It’s nothing, just… you’re sure about this? I can always -”

“Jesus, Lip,” Nix groans, sitting down.  _ I knew it.  _ “He pulled me out of a burning building; I’m  _ pretty  _ sure he’s not aiming to kill me. And if he is, he’s playing the real long con, and if I get stabbed in the middle of the night I’ll probably deserve it.”

“I know, I know, I just… worry.”

“You’re a mother, it’s in your nature,” says Nix, ignoring the disparaging look that Lipton shoots him. It’s not quite a glare, though, because they both know there’s truth to it. “Hey, aren’t you the one always telling me I need more friends, huh?”

“Yes, but usually you don’t make new friends by moving in with them after knowing them for a week.”

“If it works for the lesbians, it works for me,” Nix quips. He can tell his friend isn’t quite reassured, so he sighs and forces himself to be serious. “Look, I’ll be fine, Lip. I know it’s abrupt and all, and we just met Dick, but… I trust him. With my life, literally, but also on a day-to-day basis.”

“He’s a good man,” Lipton agrees. 

“Yeah, and he’s the one that offered. If he wants to put up with Lewis Nixon, disaster extraordinaire, I’m not going to turn him down. Besides, he’s got a dog, and you don’t. Decision made.”

Lip smiles. “You’re just salty that Atalanta still doesn’t like you.”

“That is not a cat, it is a creature from the seventh circle of hell.”

“No, she isn’t. Anyway, I know logically that you can take care of yourself. Winters seems great. It just… confuses me that you’re not willing to take charity from your friends, but you will from a near-stranger.” 

“Well, first of all, I don’t take charity from anyone, so jot that down,” Nix frowns, suddenly worried. “Do you think it’s charity? Dick doesn’t seem like the type to help people he really doesn’t want to help. Well, actually, the man’s a saint; he’d probably help his archenemy. Hell, I bet he doesn’t even  _ have  _ an archenemy. Which is a shame, since I have at least three. But he said he just wanted to help me out. Do you think he feels bad? Shit, Lip -”

“Nix, calm down,” interrupts Lipton, one warm hand rubbing soothing circles into Nix’s shoulder. He takes a slow breath, not having realized the anxious spiral he’d landed in, and steadies himself with a sip from the flask Speirs had snuck in for him. “I didn’t mean it like that,” he apologizes. “And I’m sure that Dick has the best of intentions. I just…” 

Nix wracks his brain for any remaining protests that Lip might have. “Oh.  _ Oh.  _ You think I’m rushing into this because I think he’s hot.”

“Well…”

“You think that I’m thinking with my dick.” Nix snorts ungainly. “Thinking about Dick  _ with _ my dick.” 

“I wasn’t going to put it that way, but yes, that’s what I’m worried about.” 

He laughs again, delighted by Lipton’s red-faced embarrassment. “Aww, Lip. Hell, you have a point. His looks certainly don’t hurt. But he’s not interested in me and I’m not looking for a relationship right now. If something develops in the future, that would be fucking great, but I’m not gonna throw myself at him.” 

Most of what he’s said is true, at least from Nix’s perspective. Dick hasn’t said or done anything that could be construed as explicitly homoerotic; Nix doesn’t even know if he’s interested in men. And just because he might have a  _ little  _ crush doesn’t mean he’s about to confess his undying love for the man. He needs to be a little less fucked up, both physically and emotionally, before considering any sort of a serious relationship again. 

The therapist Nix had gone to one session with had taught him at least that much.

“That’s good,” exhales Lipton, oblivious to his internal dialogue. “As long as you’re not rebounding.”

“The only thing I’m rebounding off of is the loss of my fucking dog, and as I understand it, Dick’s got a pretty good one, so I’m set.” Nix sips from his flask again, relishing in the burn of Vat69 down his throat. 

He looks up when the door opens again. Speirs is there, leaning against the doorframe and looking at them with his characteristic frown. He must have channeled the English professor in him a little too hard today, because he’s wearing his reading glasses and a gray pullover over a navy shirt. 

“Hey, Ron.” Lipton stands up, always brought to attention when his boyfriend appears. “What’s up? I thought you were going to wait in the lobby.” 

“Took too long,” Speirs says curtly, scanning Nix up and down. His eyes widen imperceptibly before he is all-out glaring. “Are those my pants? Is that  _ Carwood’s  _ shirt?” 

_ Oh boy.  _ Nix bites his tongue, but can’t keep the amused smirk off his face.

Lipton walks forward to head him off before Speirs bodily assaults him, for which Nix is silently grateful. Ron might be his best friend, but he honestly wouldn’t put it past him to attack a hospital patient. “I lent them to him until he can replace some of his wardrobe,” Lip says to mollify his boyfriend. “I’m sure Nix will take fine care of your clothes, Ron.”

“I don’t care that he’s wearing my pants,” says Speirs, to both of their surprise. “He’s wearing your shirt.”

“Yes… and that’s an issue, why?” 

Nix snickers as Speirs’ expression morphs to the pout-that-he-insists-isn’t-a-pout. “I’m the only one that gets to wear your clothes.” 

“Wha - Ron…”

Lipton turns bright red as Nix laughs, rolling his eyes at his friend’s possessiveness. “Hey, if you wanna give me your fancy shirt, I’ll gladly take this off.” 

Without a word, Speirs starts pulling his shirt over his head, still standing in the hallway. He doesn’t stop even when Lip exclaims, “Jesus, Ron!” and starts struggling to stop him, nor when Nix falls on the bed laughing. He nails him in the face with the shirts when he’s done. 

“Off, Nix. Now.” 

“Alright, alright.” Still chuckling, Nix yanks the T-shirt over his head and tosses it to Speirs, who wears a cat-that-got-the-cream smile as he puts it on. He puts on the gray sweater himself, tugging it askew just like the T-shirt.

“Really, Ron? You’re ridiculous.” Lipton huffs, but he’s smiling and his eyes are sparkling with affection. A twinge of envy strikes Nix, but it’s quickly doused when he sees how Speirs’ eyes light up at the sight; there’s something about seeing his friends in love that makes him feel okay with his own sorry state, if only for a moment. “If I’d given him my pants to wear, would you have taken those off, too?” 

“Yes.” 

“You’re the worst. Come on, let’s get out of here.” Lipton herds the two of them through the door like a duck corralling its ducklings, shaking his head all the while. Nix grins and allows himself to be shuffled along. Speirs does the same, laying a heavy hand on Nix’s shoulder for a brief moment in a silent communication of relief.

It seems they really did take a while, because when they finally reach the hospital lobby, Doc Roe isn’t alone. Nix sucks in a silent breath at the sight of Dick Winters smiling and gets an elbow in the side. 

“Don’t stare,” Speirs hums faux-innocently. 

“Oh, fuck you,” Nix responds, leaving them behind to cross the room. He finds that he doesn’t even have to paste a smile on his face; it comes naturally. “Dick!” 

The redhead turns at the sound of his name, eyes crinkling with premature crow’s feet that are somehow incredibly endearing ( _ when did I decide wrinkles were attractive?)  _ as his gaze alights upon Nix. “Hi, Lew,” he exclaims, sticking out a hand. Nix is fine with a handshake, but Dick’s fingers slip past his palm to press against his pulse-point in an oddly intimate gesture. He wonders if Dick can feel it fluttering. “Doc here was just telling me about your treatment.” 

“Aww, man,” Nix groans. “He’s not my keeper, Doc.” 

“I know, but it never hurts t’ have someone else know what you’re goin’ through,” says Doc Roe. “You got your insurance work? I c’n get you all cleared t’ go if ya do.” 

Nix fishes out the insurance card from his parents and hands it over. “While he does that, I think proper introductions are in order,” he says, thinking of his and Dick’s first conversation. 

Dick straightens more, if that’s possible, since the man’s spine has probably never experienced a curve. “You’re right. I’m Dick Winters.” 

“We know,” smiles Lipton, a complete contrast to the expressionless look on Speirs’ face. They shake hands and Ron looks even more stern, if that’s possible; luckily, Dick seems unfazed. “I’m Carwood Lipton. Most people call me Lip, but you’re allowed to call me Carwood.” 

Dick glances over to Nix, whose insides twist pleasantly at the eye contact. “Er, I think I’ll stick to Lipton,” he says. “And you must be Ron.” 

“Speirs.” He shakes Dick’s hand firmly. “You can call me Doctor.” 

_ You’re kidding me _ , Nix thinks, sharing an incredulous look with Lipton.  _ I’m going to kill him.  _

Luckily, Dick merely raises an eyebrow. “Alright. You can call me Lieutenant.” 

And  _ Jesus,  _ if that isn't more than a little hot. Nix swallows and looks away just long enough to catch Lip’s knowing eye before Ron allows a grudging smile to grace his lips. 

“Fair enough,” he says, and Nix is none-too-relieved that Dick seems to pass the first Speirs litmus test. He's long since given up trying to stop Ron from gatekeeping his relationships; the guy's as protective as a mama bear, and Nix has to admit he likes it. “Keep an eye on him. Nix can be quite the handful.”

“Says Mister ‘I once stole the paintball gun of an enemy just to shoot a guy on my own team because he made a dumb joke about asexuality,’” Nix fires back. “He's right, though. You wanna back out now, Dick?” 

He means it as mostly a joke, but Dick meets his eyes and smiles like he's answering a question Nix hadn't planned to ask. 

“No, I don't think so,” he muses. “I like a challenge.”

_ Gonna be a challenge for me not to jump your bones.  _ Nix staunchly ignores his friends’ suggestive looks in favor of running away the second that Roe calls him over. 

He signs the paperwork absently, signature near-indecipherable as he tries to pick up the conversation behind him. 

Roe slaps his hand gently. “Nixon. Some time today?”

“Oh. Right.” Flushing, he gets back to it. The Doc sternly instructs him to pick up his prescriptions today and make an appointment with the receptionist for next week. 

When all is said and done, Nix is a free man. His first steps out of the hospital and into the fresh air bear a strange resemblance to the day they'd finalized the divorce: life will never be the same, but perhaps the change is for the better. 

The difference, of course, being -

“I'm parked over there,” says Dick with a hand gesture. Lip and Speirs must be in the same vicinity because Lipton falls into step with him. 

“You two go ahead,” Speirs says,  surprising them. “I'd like to have a quick chat with you, Winters, if you don't mind.”

Nix meets Lipton’s gaze and they share a moment of simultaneous eye-rolling.  _ The Talk.  _ Litmus test number two, reserved for anyone that seems like they might genuinely be interested in a Speirs cub. He'd never given it to Kathy, but Webster’s complained multiple times of Ron scaring off his dates. (He might be justified - most of the people Web dates are jerks - but Nix isn't about to encourage him.)

The thought of Speirs driving off Dick Winters is an unfathomable one, but Nix feels the anxiety building nonetheless. He tries to catch Dick's eye but the firefighter is all business, seemingly oblivious to the matter’s true (lack of) importance. “Absolutely. Go on, we’ll be just a moment.”

“Sure.” Lip nudges his arm and steers them away,  walking back toward Speirs’ sleek black Lexus. (Nix had always preferred Mercedes, himself.)

Lip forces a few more articles of clothing onto him - only Ron’s, of course - as well as a casserole dish from Kitty.  _ Bless her Midwestern heart.  _ They chat idly until footsteps have both of them perking up; Nix tries not to think about what it means that Lip looks to Speirs and he to Dick. 

_ No point in feigning ignorance.  _ “So, dad, how'd your ritual threat of disembowelment go?”

Speirs frowns. “Fine. He wasn't fazed,” he says, almost like he's  _ upset _ about it. 

Nix laughs. “What, he wasn't scared? Would you rather he run away screaming?”

“More fun that way,” Speirs mutters, lips twitching in amusement as his boyfriend scolds him. Nix looks to Dick for answers, and the man stares back with a quirked eyebrow, smile lines faint but unmistakable. 

“I didn't say anything I didn't mean,” he shrugs, but he's addressing Nix instead of Speirs, like Nix ought to know the sorts of things a person needs to say to pass the test. 

Nix does, in fact, know. The implication has him flushing and stumbling over his words. “Well, thanks for being nice, or whatever.” 

_ Wow, Lewis. Ivy League education and that's all you can come up with.  _

Judging by Ron’s expression he is thinking the same thing, but Dick just sports that patient smile. 

“Should we get going?” he asks. “I know there are a few stops we ought to make, and I'm sure you want to get settled in.” The dog remains unspoken. 

Nobody has any strong protests, so Lipton wraps him in a tight hug, palms hovering over the donor site. “Alright, boy. Text me as soon as you get your new phone,” he demands. “And let me know if you need anything.  _ Anything. _ ”

“Yes, mom,” Nix chants. “And you're four years younger than me; you can stop calling me boy.”

“Hey,” interrupts Dick, tone so stern that Nix sprains a neck muscle in his knee-jerk spin towards him. He gapes at the firefighter, not sure whether to be intimidated or aroused by the casual display of authority. Nix can see exactly how the man came to be a fire lieutenant in the line of his shoulders and his lips, allowing for no disobedience.  _ Did I say something? Ow, fuck.  _

"W-what’re you looking at me like that for?” 

The redhead stares at him a moment before the thin line of his mouth softens and his blue eyes sparkle with mirth. 

“Don't speak to your mother like that,” he says. 

“Wha - Dick!” 

Ron lets out an unrestrained bark of laughter as Nix grins and Lipton covers his face with his hands. “I can't believe it. And here I had you pegged as a man with no flaws, no vices and no sense of humor.”

“I have all of those things, Lew.”

“The first two remain to be seen.” Nix is still in a mild state of shock that he's made friends with a  _ teetotaler.  _ "Well, boys, I guess we're off.” Nix is ready to walk away; Speirs doesn't usually welcome physical contact, which is why he's surprised when Ron tugs him into an embrace. “Oh. Gonna cry on me, Sparky?”

“Fuck off,” mutters Ron into the side of his head. “I'm glad you're alive, bastard. Let me know if you need me to take him out.”

“Jesus,  Speirs… alright, fine,” Nix concedes, apparently a prerequisite to being let go. “Man, are you sure you weren't destined to be a hitman or something?”

“He likes books too much for that,” says Lip. 

“Plenty of time to read between contracts.”

“Don't give him ideas.”

Dick has been watching them bemusedly all the while, so Nix decides to put the man out of his misery. He slips a hand into the crook of Dick’s elbow and flutters his lashes dramatically. “Take me away?”

Dick laughs, his skin sun-warm in Nix’s grip. “Always. It was nice meeting you two. I'd love to have you over for dinner sometime.”

“Likewise. See ya, boy.” 

Dick guides him a few rows back to a sensible compact car that looks as though its permanent residence is a car wash. Then again, knowing firefighters, it might be. He lets Nix in and then folds himself into the driver's seat, unnecessarily reaching for the sole resident of the passenger seat: a lone water bottle.

Nix hums. “I like a guy that keeps his car clean.”

Dick chuckles. “Well, I try.”

“Is your whole house this clean?”

“I'd say so, yes.” 

“Well, damn. Guess it's a good thing mine burnt down, ‘cause you'd be horrified if you saw it.” It still hasn't quite sunk in that he'll never be going back to his cramped little one-bedroom, but he won't miss it. 

That earns him another wry smile.  _ Hell yeah, five points to Slytherin.  _ "That would be an interesting way of dealing with your problems,” Dick says. “Nothing to clean up.”

“Not on my end, anyway.”

Their first stop is a Best Buy, where Nix replaces his laptop and phone easily. He likes to have up-to-date tech, but isn’t particularly concerned with getting the best bang for his buck, so to speak, so he just snags the newest phone, a laptop comparable with his old one, and all the usual accessories with as much fuss as if he were deciding between brands of peanut butter. Dick watches him drop a grand on the electronics, then another five hundred on replacing the key components of his wardrobe, but waits until they’re done with the errands to finally pop the question. 

“So, what is it you do, anyway? Your workplace has been rather good about your recovery.” 

“Oh, that’s ‘cause I’m my own boss -” 

“I’m afraid if we get home and you try to sell me something, our deal is off,” says Dick in a deadpan voice. 

Nix laughs. “Oh, God, no. I’m almost offended that you think I could fall for a pyramid scheme. Actually, I  _ am  _ offended.”

“Sorry. Just had to be sure.” Dick’s eyes flicker briefly to him, but like the dutiful citizen he is, he remains utterly focused on the road. “No offense.” 

“None taken,” Nix sniffs. “No, I do freelance work. Consulting with business and individuals about optimizing their investments, mostly. Stocks, bonds, golden parachutes… the whole nine yards. Really leaning on my business degree, as you can see. And it pays damn well.” (Not that Nix is a self-made man by any means.) “I’d just finished a contract the day that everything went up in flames, so I’m free to take some time and figure my shit out.” 

“Do you like it?” 

It’s not a question Nix is normally asked, but the answer is instinctual. “Hell no.” 

“What would you be doing if you could?”

Nix sighs, leaning back in his seat. “That’s the million dollar question, isn’t it? I’d be working for my dad and I’d be miserable. Well, drastically more miserable than the low-key misery I currently embody. And I’d be 100 percent more alcoholic, to boot.” 

“What’s your passion, Nix?” 

They are both aware of the twenty-questions vibe to the conversation, but Nix can’t bring himself to stop answering. It’s been so long since anyone’s asked. “I dunno. Alcohol? Dogs? I didn’t even like business in undergrad. My whole life’s been dictated by my parents, and even now that I’ve tried to step away I can’t figure out what’s them and what’s me.” 

“Lew…” 

Nix laughs bitterly. “Yeah, in case you hadn’t realized it, you’ve adopted a suicidal earthworm disguising itself as a human. Doesn’t even make an effort to wiggle off the sidewalk back into the mud.” 

“Don’t say that sort of stuff about yourself,” Dick says firmly, interrupting Nix’s self-pitying diatribe. His eyes remain locked on the road, but his knuckles white on the steering wheel betray him. Nix watches the bob of his Adam’s apple and mimics the action subconsciously, cowed by the steely vein to Dick’s tone.

It feels therapeutic, almost, to have someone shut down his bullshit. “Okay. Sorry.”

“It’s okay, I just…” Dick sighs and turns off the engine. For the first time Nix realizes they’re parked in the drive of a picturesque little ranch-style home.  _ It’s even got a fucking picket fence. Wonder if he’s planning to paint it white. _

He turns to Nix, fiery hair glowing in the sunlight and casting a halo around him. His furrowed brows shed the only shadow on his sunlit face. This whole thing must be a glitch in the Matrix, because there’s no way a beautiful, perfect man like Dick Winters ought to look so concerned about poor Lewis Nixon. 

“I didn’t know you when I decided to rescue you,” he starts softly, like he’s afraid Nix will take something the wrong way. “I did it because it’s my job. I chose my job because I want to save as many people’s lives as possible. Every life is worth something. But… well, I could tell you were a fighter. And now I know that you’re brilliant, and funny, and much more resilient than you give yourself credit for, and -” 

Dick cuts himself off, two spots of red blossoming high on his cheeks. Nix wonders absently what the rest of his statement was, but before he can ask the man presses on. “You’re worth so much, Lew. I wish you believed that. And I’ll do everything in my power to make you see it."

_ Oh… oh God.  _

Nix has to look away, staring hard-eyed out the window before he has an emotional meltdown in Dick’s car. As it is, he’s definitely moments away from crying. 

He would try to recall the last time someone reassured him like this, but Nix honestly isn’t sure if he’s  _ ever _ been given such sincere validation. For how familiar the Nixons are with long-term depression, they certainly aren’t very good at dealing with it. 

A watery chuckle escapes him.  _ Dick Winters just might offer an answer to that million dollar question.  _ “Thanks,” he says thickly. “Can we, uh, go inside so if I cry I can blame it on the dog?” 

Dick laughs, a beautiful sound; Nix quite surreptitiously wipes a tear from his eye. “Absolutely, Lew.” 

He leans against the car to steady himself against the emotions still flooding his system, but Nix gives himself just a moment before he’s rushing to the door. Nothing prevents a breakdown like a dog, in his experience. 

He can already hear the tip-tap of claws on a hardwood floor inside. Dick glances at him as if to ask if he’s ready, before letting the two of them in the house. 

“Oh my  _ God,  _ a  _ baby!”  _

Nix falls to his knees, all too willing to let this  _ gorgeous  _ purebred collie bowl him over, her tail lashing frantically in windshield wiper motions. In a matter of seconds fur is everywhere, Nix’s face is wet and gross, and he has  _ never  _ been happier. 

Dick chuckles at his endless slew of compliments for his dog, leaning over Nix. “Her name’s Lassie. I was a bit nostalgic when I got her.” 

“Perfect,” Nix breathes, grin almost painful as Lassie paws at his (Speirs’) shirt. 

“I’m stealing her.” 

“Uh, I don’t think so.” 

“...we can share?” 

Dick laughs. Nix falls backwards on the floor, content to let Lassie sprawl out on top of him and irritate the burn on his face to high hell with her tongue. They look up at Dick with matching puppy eyes and he laughs again, the noise bubbling out of him like a fountain that pumps only joy. 

To both of them, this feels a little bit like heaven. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm going on vacation tomorrow and this webgott thing won't be done for another 5k words so I decided to whip out a chapter real quick!! wrote half of it on a plane. 
> 
> thoughts: i've discovered a love for writing speirton, especially with a possessive speirs. he loves carwood, but he also loves nix and will murder multiple people for him. also, i wasn't very explicit about it, but he's ace in this. (and i have plans for webster but that will be a oneshot probably)


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nix drinks with his friends, makes a mistake, and buys donuts.

To his surprise, Nix settles into a routine rather quickly after moving in with Dick. Granted, he doesn’t have much to do. Most of his days are spent trawling the internet for apartment listings, sending passive-aggressive emails to the contractors he’s neglected, and taking as many Lassie videos as he can for Lipton and Kitty. (Her name is a bit of a misnomer; she’s the only person he’s ever met that might love dogs just as much as he does.)

And despite the gargantuan crush that he’s developed on Dick Winters, living with him is one of the easiest things he’s ever done. 

It’s easy to say good morning when he wakes up to the smell of bacon and dark roast coffee; even easier when Dick’s eyes light up and he pulls one of the half-smiles that Nix loves. It’s easy to navigate around his 24-on, 48-off schedule, to plan who will walk the dog and who will make dinner and who ought to be there when the electrician comes. It is even easy to say goodnight when he gets to lay in a bed that smells like Dick’s laundry detergent and listen to the muffled noises of his night routine in the next room.

Dick Winters has become the foundation for rebuilding Lewis Nixon’s life, and the best part is, he doesn’t seem to mind.

* * *

He realizes how bad he’s got it after a week when he’s standing in an Aldi trying to decide if Dick would prefer Swiss or Provolone cheese. Nix had never even stepped foot in an Aldi before Dick, but the firefighter espouses its virtues (“You never quite know what you’re in need of until you’ve walked down the miscellaneous aisle of an Aldi’s, Lew”) and it’s within walking distance of the house, so therefore it’s become Nix’s regular grocery stop.

He stares at the packaging and laughs near-hysterically enough that the elderly woman perusing off-brand port wine cheese asks if something is wrong. 

“Oh, sorry,” he says. “Just, uh, having a crisis.” 

She hums, “Get the provolone. It’s better,” and shuffles away with her two cartons of Happy Farms. 

Nix laughs so hard he nearly cries.  _ That’s one question answered.  _ He tosses the provolone into the cart and moves to the meat section. 

He’s never had to bag his own groceries before, but after a few bruised apples and a tragically squished loaf of bread that they’d thrown a funeral for, he’d figured it out. He leaves the quarter in the cart for someone else and heads back to his car, which he’d finally gotten out of impound. 

When he gets home -  _ God, when did I start thinking of it like that  _ \- Nix plays Tetris with the freezer items before pulling out his phone. 

**To Speirs, Webster:** _ berchtesgaden _

**From Speirs:** _ Eagles’ Nest. 9pm.  _

Inspired by the spring break trip they’d taken to Germany where they’d had to get rip-roaring drunk to stand Web’s 24/7 history lectures, the codeword is used sparingly but honored religiously. Nix is admittedly the one to use it most often. Although, there was that time Speirs had fought with Lipton about his kleptomania habit, and the time Webster had been robbed of a tenure-track position.  _ Now, that was a fun night.  _

Nix isn’t raring for a fight, or to drown his sorrows. He just wants to drink enough to have a good time and not think about Dick Winters and his smile or the way his shirts ride up when he stretches or the way he had helped Nix remove the dressing on his back when Roe had instructed him to. 

He shivers, remembering how warm Dick’s hands had been, how carefully he’d worked the adhesive away from Nix’s skin in an attempt not to hurt him. 

**To Speirs, Webster:** _ i’ll be there at 8.  _

* * *

The first problem with this plan of Nix’s is that, as much as he denies it, he is a sentimental drunk. In addition, sober Nix not wanting to talk about something means that drunk Nix will have one and  _ only  _ one topic of conversation on his mind. 

The other problem is that his friends are enablers. 

“So what’s the issue, Nix?” asks Webster, swirling his red wine hypnotically before draining the last of it. On his other side, Speirs stares him down over the lip of a bottle, one eyebrow raised in challenge. “You like him. So what.” 

Nix scowls, shooting his whiskey and flagging down Smokey, the bar’s owner, for another pour. The bartender laughs and fills her up straight from the bottle, shaking his head fondly before going back to his impromptu-slam-poetry for a pair of blonde women down at the other end. The Eagles’ Nest is the trio’s favorite bar for precisely this reason: the alcohol is free-flowing and Smokey won’t ask questions, but does care enough to make sure they get home safely. 

He takes another swig of Vat69 and coughs at the familiar burn. “The issue, Kenyon -”

“You know, I was reading an article today about degloving. How would you like to be degloved, Lewis?” 

“The  _ issue  _ is that I like him way too much,” Nix stresses, while Speirs wordlessly commends Webster on his choice of threat. 

“‘Like’ as in, you’d like to go on picnics with him and feed him chocolate-covered strawberries and recite love poetry to him? Or ‘like’ as in you’d like him to rail you until you can’t walk straight?” 

Nix rolls his eyes. “Well, first of all, your idea of romance is way more old-fashioned than mine is, Web,” he says, although the thought of a sun-kissed Dick Winters is hard to resist. As is the sex part. 

_ Don’t get distracted.  _ “Second of all, both?”

“Well, there’s your problem,” Speirs drawls, draining the last of his craft IPA and beckoning to Smokey for another round. (Another thing Nix likes about his friends - they’re all rich enough to pick up the tab.)  “Relationships only work with one or the other.” 

“Just because all your energy that should be sexual instead goes to, I dunno, murderous thoughts, doesn’t mean the rest of us don’t need both,” frowns Nix. He’s been friends with Speirs long enough to understand his asexuality is innate rather than a side effect of the fucked-up childhood that he’d had, but intoxicated Nix never quite gets it like sober Nix does. “Anyway, it’s not just that I want him, even though I do, ‘cause I want him  _ so bad.  _ The problem is that I can’t have him.”

“Why not?” 

Speirs is the one to pose the question. Nix gapes at him, then flails his hands about in a fashion that ought to answer him, but really just forces Webster to rescue his wine glass from the danger zone. 

“Why  _ not _ ? Speirs, look at me. Now - now look at him.” 

“You took a picture of him while he was asleep and set it as your home screen? Oh, Nix.” 

“Fuck off, Web, jus - just look.” Nix waves his phone in Speirs' face haphazardly, the pink flush of embarrassment battling the flush of intoxication for dominance of his face. He  _ may  _ have snuck a picture of Dick asleep on the couch after a particularly long shift. But hey, who can blame him? "He's beautiful."

"Hmm."

"Don't you 'hmm' me, he's  _ gorgeous!  _ And I'm a squishy lump of a man with nothing but money to my name, an addictive personality, and a body that is something-percent Freddy Krueger right now.” Nix slumps, pressing his cheek into the cool bartop. “Even if he does genuinely want to be my friend, which God knows why ‘cause I had to basically coerce you two into it, there’s no way we could ever be more. For one thing, I think he’s straight.”

“Oh, he’s not,” says Speirs, pearly whites flashing in a smug smirk. 

Nix nearly falls off his barstool. “How would you know? Did you  _ ask  _ him? Was that part of your litmus test? I swear to God -” 

“I didn’t ask him. I could just tell. He’s into you, Nix,” says Speirs. 

“Ron wouldn’t lie to you,” Webster points out, knocking their elbows together a little too sharply. “Hey, d’you think the notes on this are cherry or raspberry?”

“Bullshit.” Nix steals his glass of Pinot Noir to smell and then taste. “Raspberry.” 

“I wouldn’t lie to you about this,” Speirs says, and although his mouth is slack, one of the few tells he has that the alcohol is hitting him, his eyes are dark and Speirs-serious, and Nix has to admit that he’s right. When it really matters, Speirs is brutally honest. 

Which leaves him with an even greater dilemma, despite the hope that threatens to expand so much in his chest that his heart might burst like a balloon.  _ He’s not straight. And maybe he likes me. Or he could like me, if he gets the chance. Aw, fuck.  _ He face-plants into the bar again. 

“So what do I  _ do _ ?” he whines. 

Webster scoffs. “Talk to him. Easy, straightforward. Always works for me.” 

“If that’s your strategy, then I need to do anything but.” 

“Hey, fuck you, I got laid… ah, hell, you’re right.” Webster joins him in his bar slump, lips curled into a perfect pout. “How is it the ace guy who ends up in the only steady relationship?” 

“Pure dumb luck, boys,” says Speirs, stealing Webster’s wine glass and raising it in a toast. One doesn’t need to be a mind reader to look at the lovestruck smile on his face and know that he’s thinking about Lip. “Pure luck.” 

* * *

Nix doesn’t quite remember where the conversation goes from there, save that Speirs and Webster commiserate in their frustration with the University board, Nix shatters a rocks glass on accident, and sometime after one in the morning, Lipton comes to pick them up. 

“Hi, Lip,” he and Web chime in unison as they climb into the back of the Lexus. Speirs’ greeting is a sloppy kiss that Lipton pushes away with a laugh. 

“Hi, boys. Have a good night?” 

“T’was the best of times,” declares Webster with a grin, his blue eyes sparkling. Nix scowls at him. “What?” 

“How is it you’re a lightweight but you can still quote stuff like that? I can barely remember Dick’s address. Actually, I don’t think I can. Shit.”

Webster shrugs. “Literature is my lifeblood, Nix. If it helps, we all know my hangovers are the worst.” 

Lipton laughs, turning to make sure their seatbelts are fastened before pulling onto the road. “It’s alright, Nix, Winters gave me his address. You’re closest, we’ll get you home first - Ron. Hands off while I’m driving.”

Speirs pulls a hand back to the center console, not embarrassed in the least to have been caught feeling up his boyfriend, even if it was non-sexual. Dizzy from the alcohol and the thought of Dick, Nix tips his head onto Webster’s shoulder and closes his eyes.  _ Ugh. Is this love-sickness or gonna-vomit-sickness? Guess we’ll wait and find out.  _

He’s lucky - the feeling doesn’t quite settle by the time Lipton pulls up to Dick’s house, but Nix’s nausea has been overtaken by his exhaustion. He grumbles “I don’t wanna get up,” into Webster’s shoulder before the man starts to pull him out of the car, and then drunkenly bats his hands away because  _ I’m not that far gone, Jesus.  _

The window rolls down and Lip leans over his boyfriend to ask, “You gonna be okay, boy? Dick home?” 

“Uh… good question,” Nix mumbles. The firefighter had been gone all day, but drunk Nix can’t quite remember if he was at work or not. The porch light is on. Had he done that? 

Webster tosses his phone on the seat and slams the car door, no less clumsily than Nix would have. “I’ll come in with you,” he says. “I wanna meet him. If he’s here.” 

“He’s not gonna be,” says Nix, waving goodbye to the other two before heading up the walkway. “And you really want your first impression of him to be this drunk?”

“Hey, I make fine first impressions while intoxicated. And if you’re living with this man, I’m sure I’ll be seeing him again. Not to mention,” Webster tries to pull off a charming wink and fails, “if the two of you become a thing. A  _ thing  _ thing.” 

“Yeah, mister English professor? A thing thing?”

“Shut up.” 

They reach the front door. Nix fumbles with his key for a moment, trying it twice before dropping it; Webster picks it up and tries himself, but has the same pathetic luck. Nix laughs. “I wish Dick was here just to open the door.” 

The door opens. 

Nix gapes at an amused-looking Dick in the doorway. He has one leg cocked back to keep Lassie from escaping, which means he looks like a fucking model leaning on the doorframe with the porch light illuminating his features; Nix’s heartbeat attempts an Irish jig in his chest. 

“Oh. Dick. Wait - did I, like, summon you?” he asks blankly. “I don’t remember being able to do that.”

Dick chuckles. “Only with your attempts to unlock the door.” 

“But - I thought you were on tonight.” 

“No, I’m on tomorrow. Today I went out to visit my parents.” Dick frowns, the slightest of lines creasing his forehead. “I thought I told you that.” 

“Oh, you probably did,” Nix snorts, stumbling (just a little on purpose) so that their chests bump when Dick moves to catch him. “Sober me would’a remembered, but he took the night off.” 

“I see that,” says Dick, nose crinkling imperceptibly, probably at the smell of alcohol. Nix flushes, suddenly intensely aware of the picture he must make - hair ruffled and wind-wild, one arm out of his jacket sleeve, the hem of his pants soaked from a puddle he’d stepped in. Dick smiles at him, though, and there’s no judgment in it, just a fond exasperation. “Come inside, Lew, let’s get you to bed.” 

_ I’ll go to bed with you, yeah.  _ “Sounds great. Hey, before that, this is my friend Web,” Nix says, belatedly remembering his presence and flailing a hand in his direction. 

Webster rolls his eyes, stepping up a little more gracefully to shake Dick’s hand and introduce himself as “Doctor David Webster, it’s great to meet you.” 

Nix shoves his shoulder. “Ah, get outta here, Web, you and your fancy titles. You’re not slurring enough. You’re makin’ me look bad.”

“You do that yourself,” Webster retorts, catching his arm and tugging him into a hug. The guy’s more touch-starved than Nix himself, and that’s saying something. “Have fun with your boyfriend,” he sings as he wanders back to the car. 

“Fuck you,” Nix yodels in response. 

The soft sound of Dick chuckling brings a flush to his cheeks; when he turns back, the man offers him a hand, seemingly unfazed by the exchange. “Come on, Lew.” 

His heart fluttering, Nix accepts his help inside the house. The living room is dim, lit by a singular table lamp, and with a jolt Nix realizes that Dick is wearing the undershirt and pajama pants he typically wears to bed.  _ God, he’s - what is it the kids say? Swole? Damn, those arms.  _  “Did I wake you up? Ah, shit, I’m sorry.” 

“No, don’t worry. You didn’t wake me up.” 

The realization punches the air from his lungs softly, like a baby suplex. Nix looks at him with wide eyes. “You waited up for me? You didn’t have to do that, Dick.” 

“I wanted to,” says Dick. “I got worried when you weren’t home because, well, it’s rare that you’re not. But I’m glad you went out and spent time with your friends.” He sounds like he means it, and of course he does, because  _ Dick Winters is like the reincarnation of George Washington. That’s the one who couldn’t tell a lie, right? Or was it Jefferson?  _

“Lew?” 

“Huh?” 

Dick laughs, a softness around his eyes as he gently touches Nix’s shoulder, steering him effortlessly towards the guest bedroom. “Come on. You need sleep.” 

“I need…”  _ you.  _ “Sleep,” Nix agrees, the word heavy on his tongue. Lassie winds around his legs, her tail whipping lazily as her wet nose presses against his palm. Nix decides it to be most logical to sit down on the floor and accept her love with open arms, because who is he to deny a woman a kiss? 

“You’re so pretty,” he mumbles into her scruff. He looks up and finds Dick watching him, one faint eyebrow cocked in amusement, and the words slip out of their own volition. “You’re pretty too.” 

To his credit, Dick doesn’t respond save to raise the other eyebrow. “Yeah?” 

“Yeah. Too pretty. I dunno who’s prettier, you or her.”  _ You. _

“Probably her,” Dick says, helping him back to his feet. “Lassie, bed.” The collie obediently trots away, which gives Dick the chance to finally maneuver Nix into the bedroom. He deposits him on the bed and asks wryly, “Do you sleep in your clothes, Lew?” 

“O-oh.” Nix starts to fumble with the buttons on his shirt, fingers awkward and loose like long ziti noodles. “No.” 

“Would you like help?” 

“I can - I can handle it.” Nix pauses, glancing up at Dick with what he hopes is an alluring expression, fluttering his eyelashes. “Unless you wanna help.” 

_ Please touch me.  _

Dick laughs, and Nix thinks a tinge of pink has risen to his face, but it might just be an alcohol-induced hallucination. “I think you can handle it.” He leaves the room while Nix wrangles himself down to his boxers and comes back with a glass of water to press into Nix’s hands. “Drink.”

Nix doesn’t argue; he’s parched and dizzy and would probably do anything Dick asked of him in that moment. When he takes the water, Nix grabs his wrist. 

“Hmm? Yeah, Lew?” Dick asks, and his voice is as low and measured as a mother comforting a sick child, and he’s bent slightly to accommodate Nix’s sitting position, and his eyes are nothing but pupil in the near-darkness. The inside of his wrist is soft. 

Nix wets his lips and leans up to press their mouths together in a fit of irrationality. If he didn’t have his eyes squeezed shut so tightly, he might have seen the way Dick’s eyes widened before fluttering closed, but as it is all Nix knows is that he is soft and tastes like toothpaste and is decidedly not kissing back. 

He pulls away, breathless more out of panic than exertion, and finds Dick watching him. 

_ Oh God. Oh Jesus Christ on a fucking cross-shaped stick. He’s straight. He hated that. I fucked up, fucked it all up, and now he’s going to hate me. Engage move-to-Costa-Rica plan, stat. Step one, get another passport. Shit, that takes ages. Step one, die -  _

“It’s alright, Lew,” Dick is saying. Nix blinks himself out of his trance, looks up at him with no small amount of regret and trepidation. 

“Dick, I -”

The man shushes him. His lips are pressed together tightly, eyes too dark to give away anything, but he isn’t yelling or running away. Nix watches (rather, feels) him exhale briefly through his nose and then Dick is pushing at his shoulders with his fingertips. 

Nix topples back onto the bed with all the grace of a tranquilized elephant, staring up at him with wide eyes. 

What he wants, what he imagines, is this: 

_ Dick crawling onto the bed, boxing him in with long arms and strong thighs, nothing but warmth and strength and the twist of a coy smile as he presses their bodies together, one hand squeezing Nix’s wrists to keep him still as he explores his body with the other, stifling his moan with a kiss… _

What he gets is Dick’s shadow lingering in the doorway where’d he’d moved without Nix noticing. “Sleep well, Lew,” he says, a hint of a smile in his voice, before he closes the door and the world is subsumed in darkness. 

Nix stares up at the ceiling while he tries to sort out the events of the past few minutes. Then he rolls over and smothers his face into the pillow. 

_ Either I fall asleep or I ax - asx - choke to death. I hope it’s the second one.  _

He falls asleep. 

* * *

Nix wakes up to a cold wetness nudging his face and a terrible ache in his back. He groans, rolling over only to fall off the bed, having shifted too close to the edge in the night. 

“Ow, fuck.” 

The thumping of Lassie’s paws on the carpet accompanies his pained groans as Nix struggles to orient himself and remember what it means to be alive again.  _ Fuck, I forgot how much this sucks.  _

He can feel his heartbeat in his skull, his stomach is promising a very nasty start to the morning, and whatever position he had slept in was a horrible one because it feels like all of his muscles have decided to throb in tandem. Nix pushes himself into a sitting sprawl and lets Lassie crawl into his lap, petting her absently. 

The sun is too bright for it to be anytime before noon, and the only noises he hears are the birds getting it on outside his window. Dick must’ve gone to work this morning, after - 

“Oh,  _ fuck, _ ” Nix swears, burying his face in his hands.  _ I kissed him. I kissed him and he didn’t do anything. He just ran away from me! What does that mean? What do I do?  _

He repeats himself, an anxious knot complicating the nauseous feeling in his gut. He ought to have known from the moment he’d seen Dick on the front stoop that drunk Nix wouldn’t be able to stop himself from doing something he’d regret. But he’d been so  _ enchanted  _ with the man that it was simply inevitable. 

Nix is a coward. He would like nothing more than to avoid the topic and never bring it up again. 

But he won’t be able to look Dick in the eye unless they’re on good terms, and that requires the mortifying ordeal of apologizing. If Nix is going to tear down the last good thing in his life, well, he’s going to do it with his head held high. 

He scratches Lassie behind the ears. “Alright, girl, time to sort things out. And then probably come home and pack. But first, bathroom.” 

* * *

It seems the sun has taken it upon itself to shine bright enough to improve even Nix’s mood. It’s an absolutely gorgeous day, he finds as he locks up the house, Lassie patiently sitting at the end of her leash. A pleasant breeze ruffles the dog’s fur, bringing the smell of honeysuckle to him from the neighbor’s yard. 

His first stop is the little corner bakery down the street, where Nix buys a box of donuts (Dick’s favorite) and a dog biscuit for Lassie. (He doesn’t have to know.) 

Then, with Google Maps as his guide, he sets off towards the fire station. 

It is a good long-distance walk; even Nix is panting by the time the brick building comes into view. ‘Fire Station No. 2’ is blazoned in black letters above the garage door, which is open and reveals one of the company’s fire trucks being inspected by a pair of bickering men. 

Nix hesitates.  _ Maybe I should just turn around. I’ll talk to him after his shift tomorrow. Make him breakfast. That’ll fix things, right? _

Too late to turn back, though - one of the firefighters has noticed him, frolicking over to greet Lassie exuberantly. He’s short, with brown hair that rivals Nix in fluffiness and an effervescent smile. 

“Lieutenant get a new dogwalker?” he asks, looking up. 

“Nah, then he’d be paying me,” Nix quips. “I’m-” 

“Oh!” Shortie springs to his feet and grabs one of Nix’s hands in an almost-violent handshake. “You’re him! The apartment guy!” 

“Er, whomst?” 

“Lieutenant Winters’ houseguest! Saint George Luz at your service,” he bows dramatically, pausing in his bent-over state to coo over Lassie again. “Hi girl! Yeah, I love you too.” 

“Ah. You’re the truck guy,” Nix realizes. 

“Excuse you, my official title is driver engineer! But  yeah, I’m the truck guy.” 

“Oi, Luz,” calls the other firefighter from the station. “Get your ass over here and stop harassing the dogwalker. We got work to do.” While he’s tall, dark and handsome, he’s not quite Nix’s type. 

Luz straightens. “Hey, Joe, go tell the guys that Lassie’s here!” 

“I ain’t your errand boy!” 

“Ugh, fine, ya buzzkill. Come on, lemme get her some water,” Luz says, leading the way into the station. Nix follows, virtually dragged by the collie, who seems to know exactly where she’s going as she trots into the garage and plies Joe for attention. The man stops his work to pet her, glancing up at him. 

“You Nixon?” 

_ Does everyone know who I am?  _ “Nix, yeah.” 

“Cool. Joe Toye.” They shake hands. “You look a lot better than y’ did when the Lieutenant pulled you out of that building,” he says. 

Nix snorts. “Yeah, feel a lot better, too.” He’s about to ask where Dick is when the pounding of footsteps shakes the air and an excitable gang of firefighters surrounds him, falling over each other in their attempts to reach his canine charge.

“Lassie!”

“Aww, who’s the prettiest little dog we’ve ever seen? It’s you!”

“Lay off the flattery, Babe, she ain’t ever gonna like you more than me.” 

“Fuck off, Bill. Good girl!” 

“Ey, those donuts?” 

Surprised to have one of the men addressing him rather than the dog, Nix looks up at the one named Bill, whose jaw is sharp enough to open a beer bottle. “Uh. Yeah,” he says, having nearly forgotten about the apology gift, and he hands the bag over. “For you guys. Just save one for Dick.” 

“Aww, fuck yeah! You’re the best, Nix.”  _ How does he know my nickname? How much does Dick talk about me?  _ “Ey, I’ll give ya one you can take to him right now. He’s in his office. We’ll watch the pup for you.” Bill scrambles through the crowd back into the building; Nix hands off the leash to the first person who will take it and follows him. They walk through a locker room into a spacious room with a kitchen in the midst of a deep-clean, judging by the dishes piled everywhere and the empty, open cabinets. Bill plates a chocolate donut with sprinkles and hands it over. “‘Ere ya go. Right through that door.” 

“Great, thanks,” Nix says. Despite the clear directions, his feet seem reluctant to move. It takes Bill punching him none-too-lightly on the shoulder to prompt him forward. 

_ You can do this, Nix. Just go in, say sorry, ask when he wants you to move out, and then go home and cry. Simple as that.  _

He raps on the door. 

“Come in,” calls Dick’s voice. 

_ Now or never.  _

Nix opens it. He’s not surprised to find Dick sitting behind a desk, but the ginger doesn’t seem like he belongs there. His face is the epitome of surprise, eyes wide and cheeks flushed, mouth open a bit as if he’s mimicking Webster. Nix almost laughs. 

“Lew,” Dick breathes, and  _ oh, what I would give to hear him like that in a different context,  _ Nix thinks. “What are you doing here?” 

“Uh,”  _ first things first,  _ “I brought you a donut.” He closes the door behind him and walks forward to set the plate down, perching on the edge of the desk. Dick is still gaping at him and Nix instinctively reaches out, pushing his chin up with a finger. “I mean, I brought everybody else donuts, too, but that one’s for you. And I brought Lassie ‘cause she needed a walk. Your boys are cooing over her right now.” 

“Oh. Well, thanks,” Dick says. He looks up at Nix and his eyes are sparkling with gratitude and Nix has to get it out before he does something else stupid. 

“I’m sorry,” he rushes out. “For what I did last night. I was  _ so  _ drunk and totally out of line, and I shouldn’t have come into your house like that and I  _ definitely  _ shouldn’t have done that -” 

“Lew-”

“An’ I’m sorry I made you uncomfortable, if you want me to leave just let me know, I’ll get a hotel room tonight -”

“Lew.” Nix stops, breath arrested by the authority injected into his name, but he relaxes when Dick doesn’t start yelling. “You didn’t make me uncomfortable.” 

He blinks. “I didn’t?” 

“No. Well, let me amend that, I was only uncomfortable because you weren’t in your right mind and couldn’t consent to anything.” Dick smiles and Nix wonders if perhaps this is all just a whiskey fever dream. “The kiss wasn’t uncomfortable. I thought I’d been clear in my… admiration of you.” 

_ Sorry, what? _

“Sorry, what?” asks Nix, and it’s his turn to imitate Webster. 

Dick breathes out a laugh. “I suppose I could’ve been more straightforward,” he says ruefully. “I think… well, I’ve grown incredibly fond of you, Lew. In fact, I like you quite a bit. Don’t look around like you think I’m talking to someone else.” 

“But… me?” Nix squeaks, and he might be biting himself in the ass here, but it’s still near-impossible to believe. “I’m just the burn victim living in your guest bedroom.” 

“You’re much more than that.” Dick leans closer, tongue darting out to wet his lips, and Nix thinks he might be about to die. His eyes are a sweet cornflower blue in this light. “But…” 

_ Uh oh.  _ “But?” Nix asks, unable to help the waver in his voice. 

There’s something apologetic in the twist to Dick’s mouth. “I don’t think it’s a good idea for us to jump into anything right away. You’re still recovering from the fire, not to mention, well...” 

“You can say the divorce, Dick,” Nix interrupts, a monumental weight slowly lifting from his heart.  _ He does like me.  _ “And I agree with you.” 

“You do?”

“Yeah. I’m not ready for a relationship. What, you thought I wouldn’t?” 

“You don’t seem like the type of man to take things slow,” Dick admits.

_ Oh?  _

A slow flush rises in his cheeks as Nix leans in, close enough to see the ring of grey around his pupil, to count each freckle on his nose like sprinkles on the donut. He feels the urge to kiss Dick tugging him forward but he holds fast, letting his breath fill the space between them. “Oh, I can take it slow,” he murmurs, reveling in the way he can see Dick’s throat bob as he swallows, the way his eyes dart to Nix’s mouth and then away. “I can be patient, if I know there’s an endpoint. Do you promise that there is?” 

“Yeah,” Dick mumbles, then clears his throat. “Yeah, Lew. I promise.” 

“Well, then, I’ll wait.” Nix straightens, standing before he can be tempted to betray his own vow and kiss Dick breathless. “I got a lot of issues to deal with before another relationship makes sense. And I know that. So we can take it slow, and I’ll just work on myself. And hey, if you still want me when I’m less of a fuck-up, then great. I’m just surprised you’re interested now, but hey,” he grins, “I’m not gonna complain.” 

That coaxes a laugh out of Dick. “Well, good. I’d hate for you to be turned off by my interest.” 

“Oh, Dick, I am anything but turned off.”  _ Hoo, boy. Time to go.  _ He pats Dick’s hand and walks to the door, turning to say, “Hey, eat your donut. I gotta go rescue your dog from her admirers.” And then, tentatively, “You… you wanna do breakfast tomorrow?” 

He gets a lovely smile in return. “I’d like that, Lew.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ooh, things are happening~ sort of~ 
> 
> i really love thinking about the nix-speirs-web dynamic. oh, college boys. 
> 
> the firefighters will feature more in later chapters, i promise. if you've gotten this far, thank you for reading!


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nix makes breakfast and fish metaphors.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks to everyone who's read and kudos'ed/commented <333 short chap so i could feel better about working on other wips lol. i'm not sure how long this is going to go - probably not more than 10 chapters, but i have some actual plot stuff in mind for the near future.

It turns out that restraining himself long enough to become “less of a fuck-up” is a lot harder than Nix had anticipated.

He tries, really, and he’s making progress. After a few days of grumbling, he finally goes back to work consulting for an insurance company. It's still boring as all fuck, but he needs the paycheck and the return to a normal schedule, and Dick smiles proudly when Nix mentions it, so it's okay. 

He starts physical therapy, as well. Renee is a sweet woman but she's brutal when it comes to helping people rehabilitate, and every Tuesday and Friday Nix wobbles home with his legs on the verge of collapse. But Dick helps him to the couch and frets over him every time, so it's okay. 

Nix has scanned apartment listings, but nothing has called out to him - probably because the voice in the back of his mind keeps whispering about how  _ nice it would be to just live with Dick forever. _ But he knows that living independently is another important step of his recovery, and if things go downhill with Dick he'll need to be able to get away. So he makes some calls, and Dick says he's welcome as long as he'd like, and it's okay. 

_ Damn you, Dick Winters.  _

Nix was so certain that he'd be able to take things slow, but this is worse than glacial. He doesn't press, not wanting Dick to change his mind. 

But it's hard when the man pokes his tongue out while chicken-pecking at his laptop and Nix wants to kiss him. It's hard when their thighs brush on the couch during a movie and Nix can feel the heat seeping from his leg to Dick's. (He swears the other man is cold-blooded.) It's hard when he does something small, like brush Lassie or check the mail, and Dick thanks him so genuinely that he can't keep his cool and usually makes an embarrassed fool of himself. 

Nix likes him, a  _ lot.  _ So he's not going to fuck this up. 

He's flipping the bacon when he gets the call. 

It is altogether too early of an hour for Nix to exist, but he's wanted to surprise Dick with an after-shift breakfast forever and today is the first day he's had the motivation. He's got the works: bacon, French toast, eggs, fresh-squeezed orange juice from that co-op Dick likes, and a pair of diabetes-inducing cinnamon rolls. All he needs now is - 

"Lew?"

"Good morning to you too, Dick," Nix says, holding his phone with his shoulder as he cooks. "Probably surprised you by actually picking up, huh?"

"No- well, yes." 

There's a strange, tense undercurrent to Dick's tone that Nix picks up on immediately. “Dick? Is everything alright?”

After a moment of anxious waiting, he catches the soft noise of a sigh on the other end. “I’m fine, Lew,” he says, answering the unspoken question. “Call went bad last night. Heffron caught the brunt of the damage; he’ll be alright but we took him to emergency anyway. I just wanted to let you know that I won’t be home for a while. Paperwork and all.” 

Guilty as it makes him feel, Nix lets out a silent breath of relief at the news. He doesn’t want any of the firefighters hurt, of course, but the thought of Dick injured is like a bolt of panic straight to the heart. 

Nix looks around at his nearly-finished breakfast extravaganza, frowns, and takes a sip of his spiked coffee. He can’t be resentful, though, not when Dick is only doing his job  _ saving lives. _ It’s not like he’d known he was disrupting Nix’s romantic plans; the fact that he’d called at all is a consideration only Dick is capable of. 

“Nix?”

“Are you at the hospital right now?” he asks. 

“Um, yes. I’m going to head back to the station as soon as Guarnere comes around, though.” 

Nix smiles. “Alright, Dick. I’ll see you later.” Then, softer: “I’m glad you’re safe.” 

He gets the barest hint of a laugh in reply, as though Dick doesn’t see it as much of a plus. “Bye, Lew.” 

“Bye.” 

His phone chirps as the call disconnects and Nix sets it down with a bit of unnecessary force. He takes in the paper-towel-covered bacon, the orange juice still in its glass bottle, the French toast his stomach is screaming to consume. Then he starts on a crusade to find Dick’s Tupperware cabinet. 

The universe may have tried to disrupt his plans, but Nix has every confidence in his improvising abilities. 

* * *

He is almost done with his setup when Buck Compton, one of the station’s other lieutenants, gives him the heads up that Dick is back. Of course, the bleach-blond man announces his return as if he is an army officer watching the line for an enemy. 

"The Winter Eagle has been spotted! I repeat, Winter Eagle has been spotted," he shouts, standing guard in the locker room. 

"Thanks, Buck," Nix says dryly.  _ He’d make a great sergeant. _ He comes out of Dick's office to find the man grinning, pulling Spina aside when he comes through. 

It is a testament to Dick’s utter exhaustion that he nearly walks past Nix before recognizing him, and then stumbles and nearly falls over when he does. Nix catches him by the shoulders and cracks a smile at the befuddled look on his face. 

“Lew? What - what are you doing here?” he asks.

There is something distant, almost lost in his voice, and Nix’s heart aches. It doesn’t take much to know that Dick Winters doesn’t respond well to failure, perceived or actual, and one of his men getting hurt is undoubtedly failure in his eyes. 

“Well,” Nix says softly, taking his arm and pulling him towards his office, “I’d thought we could do breakfast after your shift today. But when you called I decided, easier for me to come to you.” 

He lets Dick inside, where he’s set up all the food he’d made on a neat portion of his desk and carefully organized his paperwork on the other half. 

The man’s mouth falls open as he takes it in. “For me? Lew, you didn’t…” 

“I wanted to,” Nix interrupts. “Don’t go trying to convince me all my hard work was pointless. I dragged my sorry ass out of bed for you, Winters.” 

Dick closes his eyes for a brief moment. When he opens them, there’s more sincere emotion swimming in their blue-grey depths than Nix is altogether unprepared to cope with at eight in the morning, not to mention the flicker of a smile that twitches his lips. His (absolutely  _ freezing _ ) hands float up to cup Nix’s face and then Dick is kissing him; it is but a chaste press of lips, yet all of Nix’s nerve endings seem to stand on end in a fit of overstimulation. 

“Thank you, Lew,” he murmurs, expression soft and sweet and only for Nix. “It means a lot to me.” 

“Um, uh, no problem,” Nix stammers, wondering if he’s still dreaming. “Anytime, Dick.” 

“Alright, lovebirds, we get it,” drawls another firefighter, who is sprawled in a chair reading a comic book. “Get a room.” 

“Just because you’re pining over Professor Blue-Eyes doesn’t mean other people can’t enjoy themselves, Lieb,” quips another redheaded man, walking past. 

“Fuck you and your malarkey, Malarkey.” 

Dick chuckles, one hand skimming down to his back and blazing a trail of  _ oh god he’s touching me _ as it goes. “Perhaps we ought to have breakfast,” he suggests. 

“Yeah. Good idea. Before it all gets cold.” 

Nix lets himself be shepherded into the office. Dick closes the door behind him, muffling the banter of his men, and turns to Nix with a sheepish smile. “Sorry about them,” he says. “Children, all of them.” 

“You say that like I’m any better.” 

“Yeah, well, I like you more,” says Dick. 

“After that kiss, I sure hope so,” says Nix, even though it contained all the passion of a dead fish.  _ Bad metaphor. A half-dead fish, maybe. _

Dick exhales sharply through his nose in amusement, rounding the table to sit down. “Right. Sorry.” 

Nix gapes. “What the hell are you apologizing for?” 

“Not… doing more, I suppose.” 

_ What a ridiculous, idiotic, adorable man.  _ He sits across from Dick and nudges the man firmly with his knee to catch his eye. “Hey. You don’t have to apologize for that. For one thing, you’re at work. You’ve got a reputation to maintain, I get that. Two, we haven’t even discussed what this thing is. You don’t owe me anything, Dick.” He chases the man’s gaze with his own, trying to impress how serious he is. “I’ll take anything you want to give me, don’t get me wrong, but we said we’d take it slow and I’m fine with that.” 

“Really?” Dick quirks one eyebrow, easily seeing through him. 

“Yeah, really. I mean, I would love it if you bent me over this desk,” he says, just to admire the way a brilliant red blush rises in Dick’s ears and cheeks. “But it’s not like I expect that any time soon.” 

“Well… good.” Nix grins at the way Dick struggles to regain his composure, eyes angled away; he smirks when the man makes the mistake of looking at him and blushes again. “I’m afraid I don’t see that happening.” 

“Damn. Gotta go and crush my dreams, don’t you?” 

“I - let’s eat,” says Dick, decisively reaching for his silverware. Nix laughs and mirrors him. 

“Alright, I’ll have mercy on you.” 

“Thanks, Lew.” 

Three hours later, it is Nix who needs to be granted mercy. 

He leaves Dick to his paperwork after their breakfast, going home to get some work done and walk Lassie. He’s curled up on the couch with his laptop when the dog’s nails clicking furiously on the hardwood signal Dick’s return. As comfortable as he is, he doesn’t move save to casually salute when the man enters the room. 

“Any news from Heffron?” he asks. 

“He’s fine,” says Dick. He shrugs off his jacket and drapes it over a chair. “Got caught too close to some falling debris; bump on the head and some stitches, but that’s about it. He’s probably glad it happened. He’s got a bit of a… thing for the Doc.” 

“Roe?” Nix snorts. “That’s unfortunate. Clumsy firefighter and grumpy doctor? I take it back, they might be perfect for each other.” 

Dick chuckles, crossing the room. “Maybe. Are you busy?” 

“Huh? Oh, no, just wasting time.”  _ Fuck this email, it can wait. _ Nix closes his laptop and puts it aside, looking up at Dick curiously. “What’s up?” 

He freezes, breath catching when Dick slides into his lap, straddling him in one graceful move. Every inch of contact between them makes itself known all at once, from the grounding press of his legs on Nix’s to the electrifying feel of his fingers on Nix’s neck. His heartbeat begins to beat double-time as he gapes. 

“Um… Dick?” Nix croaks, “Not that I don’t like this, but… what’s going on?” 

_ I’m hallucinating. What did I put in that coffee? Just Vat, right?  _

Dick smiles, that coy twist of his mouth that Nix has learned to mean his bisexual ass is about to be in a lot of trouble. His blunt nails scratch through the short hairs at the back of his neck and Nix gasps, lashes fluttering.

“Well, I was thinking, and I may not be able to make your desk dreams come true, but I do have a perfectly good bed,” he says, almost smugly. 

_ Holy shit.  _ “Sorry, did you just say what I think you just said?” asks Nix. 

Dick kisses him again, with  _ definitely more passion than a fish.  _

“Oh, fuck, you did,” gasps Nix when he pulls away. “Dick, are you sure?” 

_ Are you sure you want this? Are you sure you want me? Not too late to change your mind. _

“I realized something after you left,” huffs Dick, breath coming in short pants in time with Nix’s. “I don’t like not knowing where we stand. I was so attached to the idea of taking it slow that it felt like I couldn’t take any risks, and I don’t want that. You’re wonderful, Nix, and whatever this is… I want to know where it might take us.” 

“Sometime this decade.” 

“Right, sometime this decade,” he snorts. “I’ve never done something that wasn’t… well, a traditional relationship...” 

“Of the heterosexual variety or the typical-romantic variety?” 

“The typical romance bit. I’ve been with plenty of men, Lew.” 

“Just checking,” says Nix. “So what, you wanna do friends with benefits first? That’s cool. I can think of a helluva lot of benefits right now, to start.” Not the least of which is getting his hands underneath Dick’s shirt. The thought of a proper relationship still doesn't sit right with him, but this doesn't require any commitment. Not that Nix thinks he'll be shaking Dick Winters anytime soon. 

Dick smiles, softer now, and Nix can’t help but return it, hope blooming in his chest. “Could we? Try something like that? Would that be okay?”

“That would be  _ much _ more than okay,” says Nix fervently. He leans up to kiss Dick until the redhead is flushed pink and squirming gently in his lap. “D’you wanna show me how nice your bed is now?” 

“I don’t know. I happen to have a perfectly good couch, too.” 

“Oh, fuck yeah.” 


End file.
